Page 7 of The Tycoon

Inside the Buell, the bars were open and champagne was carried by servers on trays among the guests.

Cole grabbed two glasses and handed one to Regan.He greeted a few people.“Let’s take the elevator to the third floor and my box seats.They are part of the balcony high along the sides of the theater.”

She carried her drink but did not imbibe.She needed to remain sharp, and any alcohol would impair her reactions.

She stepped off the elevator first and glanced around.

Cole gave her his arm as he led the way.

The plush box held four seats, lined up in a single row, so every seat had an unobstructed view of the stage below.

He walked all the way to the end.

She followed him and sat next to him.Her gaze was on the floor below as it filled with theater patrons, searching for any threat.

“Excuse me, are these seats taken?”

She turned to see a young man in a suit and a woman, in a black sheath cocktail dress.

Cole turned to them.“Yes, this is a private box.You’ll have to leave.”

“I don’t think so, Mr.Kincaid.”The man started to open his jacket.

In an instant, Regan was out of her seat and in the man’s face.The fingers of her right hand grabbed his neck, digging into the carotid artery.“All I have to do is pull and you’re a dead man.Is that what you want?”Her left hand was raised into a fist and aimed directly at his nose.

“N…no.Please, let me go.”

She noticed Cole had subdued the woman, pulling her arm behind her back with his left hand, capturing her wrists.“Cole, call for the police.We have an attempted murder here.”

The man was probably in his late twenties.With wide eyes, he repeated, “Please, just let us go.We won’t bother you again.”

Muscles straining, she applied more pressure.“Why don’t I believe that?”

Cole held his phone at his ear.“Yes, I need police at the Buell Theater.We’ve had an attempted murder.The box seats.My name is Cole Kincaid.”He listened.

“We weren’t going to murder you,” the young man pleaded.He raised his hands.

Regan squeezed.With her left hand, she checked his front pockets and found them empty.“Keep your arms at your sides and your hands in your front pockets.

“Okay.Okay.”He dropped his hands and put them in his pockets.

“Now,” said Cole.“What are your names, and what were you doing here, if not to murder me?”

The man swallowed hard.“I’m Jerry Sykes and this is Wanda Singleton.We just wanted you to come with us?—”

“So you could murder him elsewhere?”Regan squeezed again.

“No!No!It’s not like that.We figured, if we could just talk to him, we’d get him to see our side of things,” said Jerry.His forehead was sweating.“I don’t want to go to jail.Please.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you came into this box.”Regan used her left hand to pat down the front of Jerry’s jacket.She found what she was looking for.A small, two-shot derringer.“So, you needed a gun just to get him to listen to you.This is not looking good for you, Jerry.Cole, does she have a purse?”

“Yes, a small evening bag.”

“Search it.”

Cole looked at Wanda.“You’ll sit in the chair I was in, hand me your bag, and then sit on your hands, and you won’t move from that position.”

“Okay.”Wanda trained her gaze on Cole.